


and you stood there in front of me, just close enough to touch; close enough to hope you couldn't see, what I was thinking of ('cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile).

by anxiouspunk



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F, aka the library au!, also the one where everyone loves buffy because it is a great show and we should all appreciate it, and even then you can still read/understand it pretty easily, has someone done this already? probably, it's just how I do things but if it actually bothers people tell me and I will stop, not many though only like one you need context for, nothing really horrendous though, or the one where Rory is a librarian and Paris is a useless wlw just like the rest of us, so there are references to buffy in here sorry about that if you haven't seen it, t for all the swears sorry about that also, title 'sparks fly' by taylor swift, which you'll know if you're an old fuck like me and remember any of her albums past red
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouspunk/pseuds/anxiouspunk
Summary: Paris had only wanted to take out a single book from the library.What she did not intend on doing, is falling completely head over heels for the beautiful librarian with the famous literary quote studded pins.





	and you stood there in front of me, just close enough to touch; close enough to hope you couldn't see, what I was thinking of ('cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile).

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! There's not much to say here, just that I actually really like this one and I hope you do too :)
> 
>  
> 
> (P.S If anyone wants to help explain to me why ao3 is just randomly throwing in spaces into words and such and breaking everything up, that would be great because I can't figure out why in god's name this is happening or why this site is built so bizarrely. So, apologies for that, trying to solve it.)

Paris just wanted one book. 

 

One fucking book. That was all. And yet, this had happened. 

 

It was suppose to be relatively simple. Her school library, despite the thousands of  s t uffed shelves, didn’t carry the newest text she needed for her PoliSci class. It was, however, at the local library. So Paris just had to sigh and take the sole free hours she had to head down there. 

 

It wasn’t like she’d never been there. She swears she’d be checking out more stuff if she had the free time to do all that. But any place, even one so public that allowed boisterous children, was like a home if it had books in it. 

 

She takes her Saturday late afternoon then, and heads down. It takes some  running around  the many, many levels, and all the shelves  that were  somewhat poorly labeled w ere n’t helping either, but eventually she pulls the dust y text out of it’s hidden place at the bottom shelf. 

 

When she’s in line, she’s too busy scrounging in her bag for her card as she strolls up to the desk to look ahead, which, in reality, was where the problem was in the first place. 

 

Because when she looks up at who ever is behind the scanner with  her plastic card at the ready, is where it all goes down hill. 

 

For the girl behind the till,  may or may not be the most beautiful girl Paris has ever crossed. The brightest blue eyes lock her in place;  ones the held  more colour then  any jewel and were deeper then any ocean.  Dark chestnut  hair fell in waves down past her shoulders,  and with  perfectly sculpted  snow cheeks like a  goddamn  porcelain doll. Suddenly the world is incredibly woozy, and she can feel almost none of her body except the heat  now  starting to spread over her  face .

 

“Hi!” She greets politely as she takes the text, and even though Paris knows it’s her job, that smil e is like  _ sunshine _ and  feels as if it was just for her “How’re you today? Find everything okay?” 

 

For once in her life, Paris can’t string any words together. She opens her dry mouth  only for nothing to come out, instead leaving her to just open and close it like a fool. The girl looses her cheery disposition a little, a tiny quirk up of her eyebrow. 

 

“..That’s okay, you’re not obliged to tell me.” She shrugs off, somewhere between amused and uncomfortably confused. Instead she just goes ahead with scanning the card Paris dumbly held out, along with the book. 

 

Paris watches her work away at the bulky computer,  and takes to memory  all  the tiny details. The crinkle around her eyes as she squints at the screen, how her head slowly starts tilting more and more to the side. Paris’s gaze eventually moves down to settle on her lips. Baby pink, with a slight shine to them from gloss, and now the blonde only can wonder what’d be like to kis s  them, imagining the fake taste of strawberry and complete  _ softness _ . She has to resist leaning over the counter. 

 

“..Alright.” She leans back to rip the freshly printed  receipt from the printer, pulling back the cover of the text “You’re good up until the twenty-first, two weeks from now.”

 

She closes and slides it back to Paris, another kind smile her way. As she leans across, that’s when Paris notices the button hanging from the  front of her cardigan, a little one with lined paper background that had “thinking is my fighting.” in  typewriter font . It clicks  on  a light in her, and that was finally enough for her tongue to wrap around  words again. 

 

“..Virginia Woolf.” Paris makes weakly, a  possibly shaking finger p ointing to it. The girl  glances down and when she pulls back, she’s lit up with a bit of awe. 

 

“..Yeah. It is.” This time, her smile was a bit shinier, and more genuine then meant for customer service, making Paris’s heart twist “ She..she’s one of my favourites, along with Austen, and the like.  You’re probably the first person to get that, actually..”

 

Paris knows she should reply with something; say that wasn’t too surprising, considering how underappreciated female writers are in this society, or maybe even something simple like  _ “it’s really cool.”  _ Just  _ something. _

 

Instead, as she looks into the most beautiful eyes, all she can make is a curt sigh and tight nod of her head. Then, she’s snatching the text off the counter and spinning around on her heels to flee. 

 

She didn’t stop until she reached the washrooms, whereupon she sat in the stall for at least twenty minutes with her head in her hands. Even with her eyes closed, she co uld still see the angelic face beaming back at her. 

 

She was really fucked.

 

-

 

Paris wouldn’t see she was  _ completely  _ screwed however, until she  was already on her way home,  when she saw  she did not have her jacket that was previously tied to her bag strap. The one she’d placed on the counter whilst trying to pull out her card. Because of course she did. 

 

She tried to avoid it the best she could, for as long as she could. But the month was now moving into November and that was her good jacket. There was only so many layers she could bundle herself in before the odd looks she was getting forced her to admit to reality. 

 

She was going to have to go back, or she was going to freeze to death. And honestly, half of her wanted to just pick freeze. But that was just stupid; she was not some stupid, love-struck teen. She could handle her emotions

 

So she walks back straight into the dragon’s mouth. 

 

Thankfully, it wasn’t the girl from before she gets this time. It was one her age,  though still different with her  raven-haired bob-cut and thick glasses. 

 

“Hey! What can I do you for?” 

 

“Yeah, I um, left a jacket here the other day..? A black leather one.” 

 

“Oh, sure! Uh, which teller did you have last time..?” 

 

“...You don’t have a lost n’ found?” 

 

“Well the lost n’ found mostly consists of things we find and then collect in the back room, so it’s better to talk to the person who first saw it.”

 

_ Great _ .  _ It wasn’t like she was trying to avoid doing that entirely. _

 

“Um, well, she, uh..” Paris didn’t know what the hell she was  suppose to say –  _ oh you know, only the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen  _ “dark hair, and..uhh..”  


She keeps stumbling and the girl behind the desk keeps raising her eyebrow, so Paris just awkwardly thrusts her finger to the side of her chest. 

 

“Uh, Virginia Woolf button..–”

 

“Oh, Rory!” She lights up then in understanding “For sure, just one sec!”

 

She pushes off the rolling chair, jumping down and wal king to the back,  headed towards one of the opened doorways to a dark room Paris can’t really see into. 

 

“Hey Rory!”

 

“Lane?!” 

 

“There’s a girl here, says she lost her..” 

 

Her voice is lost once she enters. Paris is left to shuffle uneasily and bite into her fingernails. Every passing second, waiting for her to come out, felt like one too long. 

 

_ Rory. Huh. That’s new. _

 

Eventually, Paris catches the head of dark hair move through the doorway, head down as she carries what looks like ten different jackets in her hands. Her heart starts buzzing and she swears she’s already sweating. 

 

The girl smiles at her as she reaches the desk, and Paris tries to seem calm. 

 

“Hi! So, I remember you left your jacket here, but unfortunately, we’ve accumulated our own collection, so just pick out which one is yours..” 

 

With a huff, she lays them all out on the desk for her. Paris though, is still stuck staring. 

 

“..You’re Rory..?”

 

“Yeah, I am!..” 

 

“Oh. Sorry. Just, most I’ve met are male..” 

 

“ Yeah, I get that a lot. M y given name is actually Lorelai, but that’s my mom, so..” She only shrugs sweetly.

 

“Oh. Sure.” 

 

“ I guess it sounds weird, but.. –”

 

“No! No, I mean..” Paris clears her throat, moving her attention to sorting through the jackets “Lorelai is lovely, and Rory seems to suit just fine. At least your parents had a better idea then giving you the same name as the capitol of _France_ for god’s...sake...”

 

Paris  slows to a stop and her  eyes pop out.  _ Fuck _ . Why she’d have to go and say that?! Now she knows her name! Granted, she just could’ve seen it on her card or library files, but Paris wasn’t doing herself any favours either by just  _ blathering  _ it out. 

 

She shoots her head up. Rory’s tilted hers, starting to smile down at her.

 

“Paris..? That’s your name?..” 

 

“Uh, yeah, it is..” She keeps sorting, making sure to hide her red cheeks “Clearly  no one had anything better..”

 

“No, I like it..”

 

Paris looks up again, finding the bright smile. 

 

“It suits you..” Rory complimented, tucking her hair back “..Hemingway once said that ‘Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it.’ – so..I’m not exactly sure what that means, but at least it’s pretty.” 

 

Paris scoffed, finally fishing her jacket out of the pile “Well, at the risk of angering Oscar Wilde’s ghost, I believe words and writings should have a little more meaning then just being  _ pretty _ .” 

 

“Hm. I guess we’re going to get along pretty well then.” 

 

Paris freezes, unsure if that was really what she heard. Was that really what she assumed it was? Rory’s still beaming away at her; even florescent lights couldn’t make her look bad. It shouldn’t be allowed. Paris wants to be mad. 

 

And she is. She’s mad at herself for turning into this fumbling idiot all over  _ one girl _ .

 

Yet when she’s looking into ocean eyes of a girl  with a deep appreciation and love for female authors just like she had, who the hell could blame her?  


That’s when she’s realizes she’s been silent, gaping, for just a little too long. Rory’s still smiling but her brow has risen,  waiting . Paris also thinks that girl with the bob-cut, who’s standing a few feet behind her co-worker, was giving them particularly odd, though amused, looks. Her face feels way too hot.

 

_ Shitshitshit say something say something that won’t make you seem like a complete star-struck fool –  _

 

“Right. Absolutely. Okay. Bye.” 

 

She blinks, and then she’s running away again, barreling through the library’s exit with her jacket clutched in her sweaty palms. Her heart feels like it’s going to tear a hole through her chest and jump right out (and then run itself all the way to Rory).

 

Christ, at this rate, this better be the last time,  less Paris set herself into cardiac arrest.

 

-

 

Of course it wasn’t.

 

The third time, Paris deeply hopes they don’t think she’s trying something. Or that she didn’t have anything better to do. 

 

She just needs to renew her book; it’d expired and class still wasn’t done. That’s all. 

 

She comes in on a different day. Even a different time. And yet, still, when she’s the next line, it’s Rory who’s calling her over, despite praying for someone else because it’s not like she hasn’t embarrassed herself enough. 

 

Paris nearly bolts. Did this girl  _ live here  _ for christ’s sake?!

 

But she scrapes up enough gumption and walks up on nervous legs. Rory has a formally polite look on, though her smile deepens when she sees her, brow crinkling. 

 

“Hey – it’s..Paris, right?..”

 

“Rory. Hey. Uh, I mean, ye s , it’s Paris – look, I just,” she slams the text down on the counter, eyes burrowing down as to avoid Rory’s “I just need this renewed. It’s past it’s date.” 

 

“Oh, sure!” 

 

She swipes the book, scanning the barcode and getting to work. Paris watches her type away hurriedly, and is trying to count her breathes, calming herself. Was it too loud? Oh god, could Rory hear how loud she was breathing?!

 

As she attempts to quiet herself and watch further, she notices something new. Under Rory’s Virginia Woolf button hung a brand new one with flowery, cursive print. “ _ I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! _ ” It was Austen. 

 

“Austen.” 

 

“What’s that?” 

 

Shit.

 

“Uh, your new button. It’s Austen. Northanger Abbey.” 

 

Rory glances down to her cardigan, pulling at the accessories. 

 

“Right again!” Rory beams away at her, blues shining “I should start awarding you points.” 

 

Paris raises a brow, but she thinks she starts smiling too. Was that flirting..?

 

“Well, really, it’s more disappointing that no one notices good literature even if it hits them right across the face.” 

 

“I guess I’m kind of an anomaly – not even a lot of book lovers wear quote studded pins.” 

 

“You’re dedicated to your craft then.” Paris tests out. Was that flirting back? She honestly had no idea.  I t seemed to go over well.

 

“‘To read makes our speaking English good.’” Rory jokes. Paris snorted.

 

“Funny, I thought you would’ve been more of a Willow then anyone else.”

 

The words spill out before she can overthink them. But Rory’s head comes up, smile pulling up with excited disbelief.

 

“..You..you like Buffy?”

 

Paris squints at her, shrugging after “Strong female leads, well-rounded and _genuine_ female relationships, whether they’re romantic or not. It’s way above anything else on t.v, that I can say.” 

 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Rory exclaimed, even leaning over the counter. Paris couldn’t help but think her excitement was completely adorable. 

 

“Well, if anything, I’d stick to quoting noteworthy female authors instead – Xander is a complete idiot.” 

 

Rory grins  away “Aw, I think he’s kinda of sweet.” 

 

Paris rolls her eyes “Please! He can’t get over himself long enough to care about anyone else, about Buffy, his supposed  _friend_ , all because she didn’t choose him! The mopey, ‘oh please love me girl who so wrongly chose the other guy!’ thing needs to stop  now because frankly, I’m  _over_ Wheden and the male writers projecting themselves.” 

 

“And what makes you so confident you know that’s what they’re doing?” 

 

“Because _all men_ are like that.” 

 

“Don’t you think that’s a little preemptive?” 

 

Again, eyes fell back, and she didn’t know what it was, but the witticisms came faster with this girl, and easier, then anyone else. And before considering their ramifications. 

 

“What, you’re going to to tell me your boyfriend would never or something?!” 

 

Rory raised an eyebrow as she took care of the receipt, smile coy. There was a longer silence that made Paris all of a sudden very worried for what she might’ve done. 

 

“..And would you be upset about that even if I had one?” 

 

Paris felt the floor nearly come out from underneath her. A blush rose all up over her neck;  _even if, even if_ . 

 

What the hell does that mean? Was she trying to tell her something? She just keeps smiling at her, Paris only getting more frustrated because she can’t read it. She opens her mouth, hoping on something intelligent to come out, but getting, 

 

“..I then might have to think less of you.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, just enough for Paris to worry if that was the wrong thing, and then for Rory to burst out  laughing . Watching her very well  _shine,_ Paris is half way happy and half way confused. She doesn’t make people laugh. 

 

Instead of dwelling, she watches Rory bite into her lip and slide the book back to her.

 

“Well alright – I’ll try not to be hypothetically upset then. Due date’s the tenth.” 

 

Paris ducked her head down when she took the book to hide the grin threatening to spread out. And later, she’ll try not to think too hard about the smiley face drawn on her receipt. 

 

-

 

By the fourth time, she thinks she might’ve done this to herself. 

 

Paris doesn’t know what the hell she was doing here. She’d needed some book for her literature class. One she easily could’ve gotten from the big-chain book store down the street rather then here. That’s what she thought she’d planned to do, until she blinked and suddenly found herself in the library line-up for the check-out. It’s almost like the universe was deliberately  _planning_ for them to meet-up. Continuously. Or at least maybe, if Paris believed in that kind of bullshit.

 

And then Rory was calling her over from her desk. And she doesn’t know if she’d delighted or frustrated. 

 

The worst part is is that there’s literally no one else she can blame for this but herself. 

 

Rory greets her with li t , bright eyes,  tilting  over the counter to her. Tells her she wondered if she’d see her again. Paris  decided against  saying that she’d been hoping to see her again too ( _what..?_ ).

 

“I – _ahem_ –  I was wondering if, uh, you could help me find this new book I need? I, well, looked but it doesn’t _seem_ to be in your shelves, so..” 

 

Looked was a rough term. Paris  _had_ done a search, had gone up there herself to the stacks. But she only glanced for about six seconds to try to find it and just decided to go to the desk when she couldn’t. 

 

But let’s ignore that. 

 

She slid Rory the paper with the title, who decided to try typing the name in the system to search. She stared at the screen for what felt like overwhelming, grinding seconds to Paris, until finally, 

 

“Oh yeah! We have that! You can come upstairs with me.” 

 

Rory pushed  her chair  back , leaping down and walking around. Paris breathed out unsteadily, trying not to appear too excited as Rory smiled, stepping in place beside her to lead her up the floors. They pile into the elevator, bunched  among other students and book hunters, and headed up the couple floors. 

 

Paris bit into her cheek, feet shuffling without even thinking about it, all to aware that she was shoulder to shoulder with Rory. She wasn’t sure exactly what to do here. There  _were_ people around, so does she not strike up conversation at all? That might make her seem weird, overtly eager. Or would it be rude? 

 

God, she wishes she was better at this.

 

Rory didn’t look to be nearly as worried. She smiled at her lightly when they hit the third floor, following up with a “this is us.” and a small gesture to the doors. Paris scurried after. 

 

She was led over the same carpet, the same stuffed shelve s she was exploring t en  minutes ago. Rory takes her to the very same hall, and before she even takes the book, Paris ends up seeing the printed words along one of the many book spines. 

 

“Here,” Rory leans over, finger trailing over the books “it should be one of these..” 

 

Paris bites into her cheek – does she point it out? No, that would make it seem like she knew more then she was  suppose to lead on. Act surprised, act unassuming. Just wait. 

 

She’d never been particularly patient, however.

 

So when Rory lets out an “aha!” and reaches for a certain cover, Paris is jumping in. 

 

“Here it is –”

 

“Yeah I see it –”

 

Neither outstretched hand grasps the book though, instead grabbing onto one another’s and  entangling fingers. 

 

Paris has all but five seconds to recognize the softness of the palm of her hand and to realize it’s  _Rory’s hand_ she’s holding onto, until the bomb of panic explodes inside her and  _oh fuck she’s holding Rory’s hand_ –

 

Immediately they both jump away, peeling back like the other was poisonous. Ducked heads and flushed cheeks, scrambling hands pulled as far away from the other. 

 

“S-Sorry, I just..–”

 

“No! It-it’s okay, I didn’t see you were, um..” Rory fumbles, an awkward pause in time. Then, in a blur, she snatches the book and holds it up. 

 

“Here you are..” 

 

“Thanks..” Paris takes it gingerly “I guess, I just...skimmed over it on accident or..–”

 

“Yeah – don’t even worry about it, a lot of stuff gets misplaced and it’s so easy to miss things, it’s so colossal here.” Rory offers kindly “..In fact, on my second week, I went to stalk shelves, and got so turned around they had to send someone up to come get me..” 

 

“...You must be joking.” 

 

“I really wish I was.” 

 

Paris scoffs out her laugh. God – and this was the same girl who  seemed to  lov e and underst and classic literature better then anyone she’d previously met. She must really be in deep  to not be rolling her eyes  and laughing instead . Was she smiling? Maybe, because Rory was grinning too, laughter under her breath. Laughing alongside her. 

 

So Paris adored her upturned lips, and Rory started staring at hers. Smiles diluting, the humour  was sucked out as the air suddenly became heavier. Ever so slowly, Rory leaned closer, and  suddenly  Paris did too without even  knowing it. It was  unearthly quiet up here. Paris swore she could hear her heart beating in her ears, out of control as they  moved in and lips  got closer and cl – 

 

Until the radio resting in Rory’s pocket crackles, cutting into the moment in time with the abrupt noise. They both spring back, startled and avoiding eyes. 

 

“ _Rory where are you?! Stop flirting with that blonde chick and come help us!”_

 

Rory turns so red it looked like she could burst. She scrambles for the radio, yanking it out and nearly dropping it a few times in her desperate fumble, before finally bringing it to her ear. She quickly steps around Paris, who’s cheeks are also up in red and trying not to  over analyze the words  _stop flirting_ , and starts speaking into it. 

 

“Lane what’re you – I-I’m not, I’m just – what-what do you want?!” 

 

“ _It’s crazy down here! We need you back at your post_!” 

 

Rory huffs and clicks off the device. After, she sheepishly flicks her eyes back to Paris  and does her best not to make exact contact. 

 

“Sorry, it’s Lane, they, I-I have to – there-there’s more people –”

 

“It’s okay – I got it, let’s go.” 

 

Rory just nods tightly, and starts  scuttling away. Paris follows a few feet behind, making sure to keep her smile to herself as she did.

 

She couldn’t even be mad at being interrupted.

 

-

 

This is stupid. 

 

It’s stupid.  Rory ’s going to hate it. Why would  she do this? She barely even know s the girl, besides only four conversations of a (possibly?) flirty nature.

 

She’s going to think she’s weird, if she doesn’t already. 

 

But what was she going to do now? 

 

Paris huffs, going back and forth in a tug-a-war with herself. She was too busy fighting over _yes_ _es_ and _nos_ to realize that by that time she’d crossed into the library, had made it through to the line, and was now standing  at the front. 

 

“Paris!” 

 

Rory calls her over  with  an excited wave. Paris sucks in a breath and makes it over to the desk on  trembling legs. 

 

“What brings you to my domain?” Rory grins. Paris swallows, hoping for words to follow. They didn’t right away, so Rory quirks her head, maybe wondering how they’d started this all over again when before Paris had been managing to make full sentences. And the blonde just wants to pull her own hair out. 

 

“I um, I have..I just wanted to..I..” 

 

“Yes..?” Rory asks, biting into her bottom lip to keep in her smile. 

 

Paris, instead,  only swears under her breath. She rips her hand out from  her pocket  where she was clutching the item in her palm, and slams it down on the counter. 

 

Rory furrows down, spotting the tiny metal object glinting from the luminescent lights overhead. She picks it up between her fingertips, turning it over. It was a little pin in the shape of a mug. It was painted yellow, with block words spelling _Kiss The Librarian_ in black on it. It was an exact replica of the real (fake?) one on the show. 

 

“Oh my _god_.” 

 

“It’s um..it’s a gift, for uh, helping me out the other day. Thought maybe, I’d..help with your growing collection..” 

 

Standing there, Paris swore she’d never felt more afraid in her life, except maybe the first time she stood here. Once Rory took it however, she watched that amazing, sun grin spread all the way over her lips, baby blues shining in delight. And it’s the most beautiful thing. Paris breaks into a grin too –  _oh thank god._

 

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.” Rory beams, her thumb smoothing over it “It’s amazing – and sweet, Paris, you’re so sweet..”

 

“You do flatter me.” Paris says, voice near the edge of trembling. 

 

Rory pulls at her cardigan, taking off the rubber piece to pierce the needle through the material. She looks up, a raised brow as she does. 

 

“I do hope you know that it _is_ my job however..” 

 

Paris coyly rolls her eyes “What? I can’t appreciate good service?” 

 

“I guess, but most people get flowers or something like that.” 

 

“Well I think flowers..you know, might have...” she swallowed thickly “..some..connotations.” 

 

“And ‘kiss the librarian’ _doesn’t_?” 

 

Fuck. She hadn’t – christ. She’d only chosen  _that_ because Rory was a librarian and she loved Buffy and alright Paris had a giant crush. But she swears it didn’t have any secret meaning, she really hadn’t meant to come across like that. Shit, does she think she did?!

 

“..Alright I’ll get you a fruit basket next time..” Paris said weakly, though still with it’s usual sharp sting at the end. Which Rory laughs at, which gets _her_ to smile. The sound was  cathartic; it calmed her like nothing else did. 

 

Rory finished pinning it on; it hung nicely right over the larger, rounded buttons that spoke the great words of authors of the past. 

 

“Looks good..” 

 

Rory made a vague humming noise in flippant agreement, but otherwise made no motions to say something more. She held Paris’s  gaze ,  only  making her feel like she’d turned into jelly on the inside. Eventually, her eyes flicked down to the pin, and then back to Paris’s – e xpectantly. 

 

“..Well?” 

 

Her stomach started to churn “..What?” 

 

Rory  kept staring right through her, brow only raising higher. It took Paris a couple more seconds of the leering look that was trying to  _say something_ without having to actually  _say something_ to finally see –

 

Oh.  _Oh_ . 

 

She swore all the blood drained out of her body. Rory must’ve noticed too, because pink rose along her cheekbones, and teeth sunk into her bottom lip. 

 

Alright. Okay. Okay. She could..she could do this. I mean, it wasn’t like she  _hadn’t_ before.  S he was prepared. 

 

So why did she feel like a nervous middle-school-boy with sweaty palms about to kiss his date for the first time at the winter formal?

 

There was little time to worry about though, as  she  bit the bullet by taking the first step into ice water and leaned in. Rory slowly leaned in to her as well, and in the next  terrifying  five second span, soft lips were pressed to hers. 

 

And Paris kissed her. 

 

And she might’ve died a little bit. 

 

However, as sweet lips grazed across hers and she could taste the faint trace of fake strawberry gloss and the bitter tang of coffee, with the lingering of lavender floating off the pale skin, she knew there was no more beautiful way to go. She could feel Rory smiling against her, which got her to do the same, happiness very well _seeping_ out. There might’ve been some cheers and wolf whistles from the back office with those nosy librarians, but she’s too busy focusing on Rory and whether or not you can burst from joy.

 

When they pulled away, Paris fluttered her eyes open to see Rory grinning away at her  and accompanied by  the adorable blush spread over.

 

“Um, so..” She starts idly tracing over her desk with her finger, eyes flicking bashfully up and down from Paris’s “I-I thought, maybe, we could..meet, together, somewhere, that uh, wasn’t my work..?” 

 

She bites into her lip.  Her gaze  could barely able to hold her own to show her nervousness. 

 

It was so goddamn cute. It,  again,  should make Paris mad. 

 

But all she wants to do is kiss her again. 

 

“And that somewhere would be..?” Her own voice is hoarse, but it doesn’t stop her grin. 

 

“Um, well, seeing as you are also a big literary nerd, I know this place that does poetry slams..? Maybe..?” 

 

Paris laughs. She can’t help it. Rory looks a little worried,  though  by the way  she’s lit up, there couldn’t be anything she had to be worried about. 

 

“How stereotypically cheesy.” Paris beams away “Sounds perfect.” 

 

Rory just shines back “Great, that’s great, um, just, here –”

 

She slides out a pad of paper and scribbles down a number, pushing it towards Paris. 

 

“I was thinking, maybe, Saturday..? We close at six, so, meet up just after then..?” 

 

“Saturday. Six.” Paris takes the paper, folding it “I can do that.” 

 

“Cool!” 

 

“Cool.” 

 

“So, I’ll see you there then..?” 

 

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.” 

 

“Great.” 

 

“Very.” 

 

Rory blushes harder, head dipping down slightly to hide the grin. Paris keeps smiling too – she can’t help it. She hears faint, stifled laughter, turning to the huddle of the co-workers who were eyeing them eagerly.  They eventually caught her sharp gaze and immediately scattered. She  held any  comments back.

 

“Okay, so, I’ll..call you, I suppose, now that I have your number.”

 

“Yeah! Yeah, for sure..” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

“Okay..” 

 

Paris bit into her tongue, starring into blue oceans and teetering on the edge of jumping. Rory  looks like she’s very well glowing . Paris taps her fingernails against her leg and  practically  feels the second s tick away. Eventually, she gives in to herself and nearly leaps across, and kisses her again, just to feel the softness and the taste of angelic. Her heart flutters  all the way  to a roar. Rory barely has time to kiss her back before Paris rips her lips away. When she looks back at her, the blues are dancing. And she feels  just  as elated as Rory  seems to be . 

 

A clock ticks absentmindedly in the back.

 

Right. She has to go. 

 

She sucks in a breath, lips open to say the last thing before the date. Maybe about how much she was looking forward to it, something to have  Rory thinking  back on it before they meet again. 

 

The words  have once again, abandoned her . So she just has to huff, 

 

“Bye.” 

 

Grasping her bag, she spins and runs off. She just caught Rory pressing her hand over her mouth to keep in the adorable laughter. 

 

Paris rushes out of the building, hands clamped to her bag strap  and heart still roaring . Her legs felt a little fuzzy; she thought they might give out. The folded sticky note  was  scrunched in her sweaty palm, and the more it stuck to her, the more she smiled. She couldn’t stop, which might’ve been bad, because she probably looked like a big grinning idiot and her cheeks were starting to hurt. She could’ve worried more, she guessed, if she wasn’t so  damn happy. 

 

She knew what she was going to do next. 

 

She was going to find the person who decided not to include her PoliSci text in her school’s library,

 

and thank them. 

**Author's Note:**

> If that was at all good for you, then let me know! More stories on the horizon.


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